


love is like a cyclone in a swamp (and the weather's getting warmer)

by paganpoetry



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paganpoetry/pseuds/paganpoetry
Summary: Nights down on the beach, cases of beer, drug store condoms and selective amnesia. Soon after that first time, they had both cut their palms and pressed the wounds together. "Blood brothers," Vic had told him. But he knew better. This was a promise. This was a declaration.





	love is like a cyclone in a swamp (and the weather's getting warmer)

**Author's Note:**

> Booze, heartache, and a reflection on the the love of his life by one Nice Guy Eddie.
> 
> Or, a character study through a prison stay. 
> 
> Title taken from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats.

He had allowed himself one solid day to cry when Vic was sent to prison. Twenty-four hours. This quickly turned into three days of sobbing, one serious contemplation of suicide, and an entire spiral notebook filled with practicing his first letter to him in the joint. 

 

That first night without him, he'd dreamt a reminiscence: back when they were fourteen and Vic came to live with him and Joe. He'd been standing on their doorstep, holding his little brother's hand, a pleading look in his ocean eyes. There was a softness to him that Eddie had never seen before, a softness he wasn't aware he had. He'd convinced his daddy to let them stay for just a few nights. That was the day Vic had branded him "Nice Guy" Eddie. 

 

A few days ended up being four years, once he was eighteen and able to rent an apartment for himself and Vincent, he'd thanked Joe with an offer to work for him any time. And he'd thanked Eddie with a kiss on the lips. Eddie had had a lot of firsts with Vic: first smoke, first drink, first time they boosted a car. And later that very night, at Vic's new apartment, first time. It was sloppy and passionate, all sweat and open mouthed kisses and whispered "I love you"s. The next morning, they both pretended it never happened. 

 

The second night without him, he'd poured himself three fingers of scotch. And then the whole bottle. He'd came into a tissue and sighed Vic's name, realizing at some point during the night he'd started crying and hadn't been able to stop, even while masturbating. Looked at himself long and hard in the mirror and laughed at what Vic might've said to him, had he been able to see what a pussy he was being. 

 

Soon after their first tryst, it became a regular thing. Nights down on the beach, cases of beer, drug store condoms and selective amnesia. Soon after that first time, they had both cut their palms and pressed the wounds together. "Blood brothers," Vic had told him. But he knew better. This was a promise. This was a declaration. 

 

The third night without him, he put Tammy Wynette on his record player and sang along. Heartache sounded pretty when she sang about it, but God, he could swear it was killing him. Melancholy music filled his apartment and he ended up sleeping on the floor, hugging one of Vic's old t-shirts.  

 

Vic had once killed a man for him. Bashed his face in with the butt of his pistol after the asshole had tried picking a fight with Eddie. It was sweet in a sick, bloody way. Eddie had his daddy's guys take care of the body and that night he and Vic slept in the same bed, Vic's arms wrapped around him. It was this night he knew for sure they were together, seriously. Through anything. Even his prison stay. 

 

The next morning, he'd mailed the letter he'd been drunkenly trying to write the last few nights. It was half a page long and signed "sincerely," rather than "love." He'd dropped it in the mailbox, adjusted the collar on his track jacket, and went to work. 


End file.
